Friday 18 February 2011


I found a half eaten avocado in the cupboard next to the bowls the other day. Thankfully it was in a tupperware - which seemed a bit more civilized. My first thought was, ‘that’s where that went to, I knew I didn’t eat all of it!’ The second thought was, ‘oh god, I have Alzheimer’s, I’m putting half eaten vegetables away with the dishes.’ This was on the same day that I dragged the King on the bus, walked a half a mile in the driving wind (okay fine, it was a mild breeze) and rushed into a restaurant to meet a group of Mothers and their babies, only to discover that they were all meeting two seconds from my house. [This fact I had of course skipped over when I read the email in two seconds and rushed off to do something else]. I suddenly heard the universe whisper loudly in my direction, "YO, lady with her pants on fire" - the universe likes metaphors; my pants weren’t really on fire - "you need to slow it waaaay down!"

It then dawned on me that the current whirlwind of temporary dementia that was plaguing me (at least I hope it’s temporary) is indicative of life as a mother. Or a mother of a seventh month old on the verge of crawling that still wakes up during the night. The King now rolls. Which means, when he rolls, he wakes up cause he can’t roll his ample (and adorable) behind back over again. So not only am I losing my marbles, but the bags under my eyes are as old and mighty as my child. 

To make matters worse, the pride I used to take in my multi-tasking ability has now morphed into concern that perhaps multi-tasking is not all its cracked up to be – or I’m just getting worse at it and it's adding to the deterioration of my brain. Perhaps the 85 things I’m doing per hour would better be served if I just slowed the heck down and did maybe five of those things. At least I’d do five things pretty well and I wouldn’t find old fruit and vegetables in mysterious places? 

The problem is, life with the King currently demands that I do 800 things per hour, like it or not. If I don’t I fear I would be neck deep in laundry, filth, pureed food stuck to every surface as I sat bleary eyed in fetal position wearing a bathrobe with unbrushed hair and make up on that was applied the week before last. Ha! Just kidding, I don’t even bother with make-up anymore as I have realized that they don’t make a cover up for Mothers that will erase ten years and give us our well slept glow back...oh please, I haven’t had a well-slept glow since I was 19.

I of course have kept my suspicions about multi-tasking from my partner because he would simply look at me smugly and confirm that man’s way of one task at a time is the superior way to conduct one’s life. He proudly told me the other day that he cannot think and listen at the same time, and hence, I had to pick my moments when he was devoid of thought to get anything through to him. I thought that was utterly priceless. It was then I realized that I was co-habitating with Buddha. Buddha with a wicked biscuit habit that likes to watch the Kardashians. Who knew?
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